


Don’t Give a Vulcan Chocolate

by TheSheMartian



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bottom!Spock, Candy, Chocolate, Drunk!Spock, Guys he’s laughing, ImInContolofmyEmotions, Kirk is dumb, LAUGHING!, M/M, PWP, Please... no chocolate for the Vulcan, Scott is a bastard, Self denial, Sexy Times, Smut, Spock is a moronsexual, The GoodDoctorTM, Top!Kirk, Uhura is so pretty and smart, Uhura lesbian :), horny horny horny, kinda slow burn??, like how, not really tho, plotwhatplot, poker game, ugh so dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSheMartian/pseuds/TheSheMartian
Summary: Captain Kirk invites Spock to a poker game with the fellas on the account that he doesn’t use actual credits for Spock’s fear of “corruption amongst the crew” and will use a harmless alternative. Only, this alternative is only as harmful to Spock as it is to Scott and his liquor.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	1. How It Came to Be

“Here, dear.” Amanda, in her Vulcan wears, brought Spock to her hip and a square of dark chocolate to his tiny, green tinged fingertips. “Have a bite. It’ll soothe the cut.” 

The Vulcan toddler looked to his beautiful mother’s amused eyes and back on the piece of chocolate. He had scraped his knee, badly for exploring over risky rocks. Now, his mother wanted him to eat some candy? A candy from Earth? Spock stitched his brows and frowned, still irritated by his failed exploration and having been patronized by his mother as something as simple as any other child from any other planet; humans, for example. 

“C’mon, darling,” Amanda cooed, had his body be rock on her plump hip with her tender hand grasping beneath him. “It’s very, very good.” 

“Mm, possibly.” The young Spock sniffed at the tiny block and brought a duckling lip to the dark cover. The child came to realize that this delicacy has been melting on his tongue as well as his fingers for being too warm for such a fragile coat. However, that note was dismissed as a sudden buzz, a wave, launched across his brain and young nerves. Feelings of tranquility and slurring thoughts punched his stomach—gently, of course—and practically had his body lounge into Amanda’s side. Spock was ecstatic within his lucid state. The boy was already chowing down on the treat with stars in his eyes and a gleam to his swollen, clover cheeks. “Mother, more.” 

The candy was finished and Spock was egging his mother for more, grabbing at her upper arm, pulling at the sleeve of her velvet, dark violet dress. With each pull, he kept calling Amanda whilst she was but a fit of astonishing laughter. Barading her boy’s soft, silky head with kisses and giggles, Amanda barely noticed Sarek enter the kitchen.

“Amanda,” A high raised Vulcan brow perked into his greying bangs. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, darling! Little Spock here tripped over some rocks,” Another cube of chocolate, this time of the white, was popped into his mouth. “And I just thought a bit of a treat could calm him down.”

Sarek’s face twisted stern and neared his naive wife, practically staring her down before her smile faded and her thin brows, too, raised with quizzical perch. 

“What?”  
“He can not eat that.”  
“Why?”  
“... It is different in processing, in digestion, when consumed by Vulcans.”  
“Oh, really?” Amanda smirked and brought Spock to sit on the counter to pay witness during their debate. But, the Vulcan boy only tried to fish for more of the delicacy laying out on the counter in a closed box. “Then why haven’t I heard of this before, husband?”

“It never came about in discussion, wife.” Sarek reproached, giving Spock no pay of mind, a common trait whenever Amanda challenges the intellectual superior. Or, so he thinks he is. “You shall refrain.” 

Amanda scuffed and with opposing eyes, she laid a firm hand into Sarek’s chest and asked: “What does chocolate do that’s so scary? Hm? Does it give him an ounce of joy for the day? Ah, or could it be that you’re oh-so very terrified for our son to feel anything? Is this that Vulcan pride I dare say, a force of crippling, coming out? Upon a child? Sarek!”

“Amanda,” The Ambassador flushed, but remained stiff. He brought his folded arms to the small of his back, held together by his strong hands, and let his chin drop so his eyes could grow large and dark; puppy eyes, one could describe it. “Listen to me, please.”

Amanda sneered. 

“Please?”

“Go ahead, you bull!” She waved a hand and brought another to punch into her round hip. Soon, the other followed and the mother stood there, as accusatory as a judge in court, waiting for her husband to relinquish his excuse. 

“... Vulcan blood is different from human’s own. You bleed red, I bleed green. You are iron based, I am copper based. Your species can indulge in vices that can leave your body in an euphoric state; intoxication, drunkenness. Only, however, when consumed. Am I wrong?”

Amanda relaxes, but keeps her frown present and eyes sharp. “No, you are not.”

“A rare occurrence to think I would be incorrect. But, mistakes happen.” Sarek inhaled sharply. “My wondrous wife whom I have come to adore, even through these trifling tiffs, you’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you—are you saying that I’ve—!” The human gasped and slapped her mouth in horror, terrified eyes looking to her son, now fat and drunk as all hell, sitting on the counter. Spock was wobbling like a wind chime. 

“Chocolate is the equivalent to your alcoholic beverages. You have—,” Sarek was cut short with a whimpering cry. 

“I’ve gotten my baby drunk!” She slapped the man against the arm while Spock was scooped up into her arms. “Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“Maaaadeeer…” Spock slurred for Amanda, hands opening and closing for her attention before her face. “More peas!” He was jumping up and down, practically a jelly bean of energy with a bad color to his goofy face. “Peas!”

“He means please,” Sarek quipped.

“I know!” Amanda snapped.

“Do not give him anymore.” Sarek said.

“I get it!”

“Calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“It will pass, t’hy’la.” 

“It will pass, t’hy’la—shush! Shush! I probably just turned my baby boy into a damned alcoholic!”

“Vulcans are incapable of such a dastardly disease.” Sarek spat and turned his bulbous nose to the air, nearly appalled by such accusations. 

“Oh, oh, but honey,” Amanda’s voice was quivering now, almost maniacal and humorous—but fear was laced into her wiggly words. “He’s only half Vulcan.”

The ambassador pressed his lips together and the sigh that escaped him was purely made of gravel. His eyes closed gently. 

“This could present itself as a problem.”


	2. A Spider in Pretty Makeup

“Gambling?” Spock spoke firm and deliberate with a rattle to the pipes and gears of the bleakly grey hallway. “You are inviting me to gamble?” 

“Hey, hey, keep your voice down. We’re not necessarily equipped lawfully to produce such activities, Mr. Spock. It’s highly frowned upon.” The captain in his commanding yellow raised his hands to magically try to lower the voice of his comrade. A pulled lip and a wry eye and the captain was already regretting bringing such a sensitive topic into air with a literal alien. “Talk like we’re not talking about—Y’know.” 

“You are speaking about gambling.”

“Quiet down,” Kirk pleaded, taking the Vulcan away from such an open space like the Enterprise’s hallways with a quick glance around. “Mr. Spock, I am appointing you with a generous invitation not a lot of crew members receive. That means,” he drew out. “you are a very, very trusted person to me, to my inner circle.”

“What you propose, as you have just mentioned, is highly frowned upon, Captain. Gambling for credits is a primitive activity that sends millions of your race to plummet into obscure addictions that ruin their lives. I see this proposal to be, to some degree, insulting.”

“Spock,” Lips smacked and Jim looked to his companion in concern. “Not everything is a poisoned apple. If you worry for credits, which I can agree upon could be more of a corruptible unit to use amongst a primarily vulnerable party, then I will replace the betting chips to something less… desirable. Hell, I’ll go right ahead and run the errand after this conversation. As long as you join me.” 

“Mm.” Spock has his head tilt, bringing his hands from behind his back and to his chin and lower lip. 

“What—what are you doing?” Kirk asked.

“Pondering.”

“When will you be done?”

“I already am.”

“Oh.”

“I suppose that will be sufficient for my company as well as the safety of your “inner circle”. I would reprimand myself if I was involved in a“hush-hush” activity. Especially, if participating members would be damaged in any way.” 

“You’re a bleeding heart, Mr. Spock. A pure blessing.” Kirk praised, a smug, adoring smile melting into his golden face. 

“No such things, Captain. I have only just run possibilities that could lead to… unfavorable numbers. However, I trust that you will supply a satisfactory replacement for credits and for chips.”

“Of course, Mr. Spock. I’d hate to let you down.”

“Please, Captain. This conversation has been the utmost definition of how tolerable I am towards you.”

“Sassy, sassy. Well then, I’ll see you at the engineer room in a few hours. Dress casual, Mr. Spock, this is amongst friends.” Kirk chimed with a delicious beam written into his lips as he slipped back and retreated into the halls further down. 

“I will ponder.” Once Jim was out from his sight, Spock’s nose turned like a bunny and scrunched. He felt some betraying force from his brain to his body in the form of flustering cheeks and warmth spreading at his stomach and into his ears. He practically stomped them to the ground and returned to a leveled temperature as well as normal color. That flash of… whatever, caught him off guard and left a very, very bad taste in his mouth once it was done for. Spock felt his mouth was dry, becoming something of a desert. The Vulcan noticed people began to walk through the halls and that he’s been unusually still for somebody inactive in conversation. With a turn of a heel and arrow sharp chargeback to Bridge, he muttered, “... I will ponder some more.” 

Twenty minutes till the festivities.  
Spock stares upon himself, his hooded eyes reflected back, to witness a stern, sage face try to look a bit less stern. 

“This presents no avail.” 

The Vulcan reached into his collar, lithe fingers gliding between his neck and the dark fabric. Casual, Jim had mentioned to dress casual. To be fair, as well as honest, Spock didn’t sense that the Starfleet drawers were as casual as one could be in such an event. The Vulcan had to note that Jim desired his attire to be loose to fit such a setting. 

Spock sneered at the mirror and began to strip. 

Shirtless and robotic, the science officer marched right on over to a provocatively soft, velvet curtain that hung from nothing and down to the floor beside his bed. He thumbed the fabric and pushed it back. Before his schooled expression, was an array of outfits. 

Mostly pristine uniforms, as one should expect, but deep into the wall underneath that silky curtain, could draw the blood out of any crew man’s face if Mr. Spock has ever put on; a blue t-shirt and black slacks. Of course, the shirt had no Starfleet insignia and showed a bit of clavicle while the pants were tighter around his rather skinny, but toned, legs in comparison to the flared and loose uniformed trousers.  
He kept his shoes; why be foreign to comfort? 

“One could say”, he thought. “this is too out of character.”

The captain—Ah, Jim. Jim would. 

A hand, opened and attentive, was placed across his chest in a slide, to feel the different material that dressed him. It wasn’t textured as much as his officer’s top, but the sensation was familiar besides the thinness of the material and how he could feel the twisted curls of chest hair trying to sneak its way through the porous sheet. With pressed lips, Spock sighed and let his arms fold and stretch behind him. Definitely thinner than expected, he noted, while all the balls of his rib cage, as well as its appendages, shadowed through the shirt. It made his shoulders look ripe, even with bare arms exposed and how much leaner he seemed to be under a light, still presented with such bulbous width. Either way, Spock would rather the estranged looseness in companionship to the tightness to its contrary—a uniform. Even when it’s so “different” for the science officer, Spock could still declare it distinctly… Spock. The clover elven man seemed taken by the rest of the ensemble, nicely done ironed flat pants of onyx black. Hugged him in the right places, he could admit in a human term, and thankfully served its purpose of, well, being pants. He clicked the heels of his Chelsea’s against the floor, practically tuning his walk to the Engineer Room when the time comes.

Oh, and only with ten minutes and twenty-five seconds on the clock. How risky! 

One last glance to the mirror and Spock deemed his attire to be adequate, moving swiftly through his door once it blew its way for his passing. The Vulcan found himself using the same type of walk he would during duty: angled, aerodynamic and studious. This time, Spock dared himself to step out of tune. Instead of such an acute and sharp angle, he retracted to a lax, rather lazy ninety-degrees. Ugh, what’s this, a vacation? 

Then, it comes to him, like a twinkling sparkle amidst his descent to the Engineering hall—why? Why is he doing this? ‘Well’, he stopped in his tracks. ‘Because it is cordial. It is an assembly amidst peers to amuse ourselves in a strategic game of cards and wit. Right, why am I doing such a thing?’

He began to chug forward, much like a train on an incline. Spock thought again, ‘Jim had invited me. I accepted. That is all…. that is… is all.’ 

And suddenly, without consent, his body had again turned on him; his face flushed, his side pounded with enthusiasm and suddenly a distinct image of Jim’s pleading smile became apparent behind stern, lightless eyes. The Vulcan’s jaw locked on itself, tending his bottom teeth with a grind. The hands buckled at the small of his back began to become clammy, fingers fiddling amidst one another as if playing a tiny violin between bulked knuckles. Spock had nearly simply turned on his heel and made it for Mars if it weren’t for a friendly “howdy do” from a particularly sweet, docile woman of chocolate skin and soulful eyes; Ms. Uhura. 

“Why, it’s Mr. Spock!” The lovely communications officer chimed with a brilliant white beam across her otherwise pink lips. However, tonight they were apparently painted red. Instead of the nude eyeshadow, the color morphed into a rather vibrant blue. Spock had to admit, she looked exceptional. Especially in such a cut and solid black dress that tapered her figure and only announced how truly beautiful she could be outside her own Starfleet red.  
“I had doubts of your attendance. It’s rather nice to see you, uhm,”

Sharp, hawk eyes scanned his attire. She giggled and shined. 

“Dressed down?” 

Spock gulped, having her as a perfect distraction to whatever pesky, Vulcan flu that’s been buzzing around inside him. “... It was the Captain’s request. I upheld it.” 

“It’s dashing, Spock. Very much so.” Nyota keened and crossed her arms across her bust. “... You’ve doubts? I heard some hesitation there, mister.”

“Only in your mind’s eye, Ms. Uhura.” 

“Please, it’s Nyota. I’m no Communications Officer tonight. Simply a lovely lady trying to get into a poker game.”

“Yes. I… suppose it is appropriate. You may address in a casual manner, as well.” Spock, even amidst his suppression and emotional rejections, could still sense a bitterness of being outside a professional environment. 

“Thank you for the permission. Will you join me then, Spock?” She teased, bringing an arm out, inviting his escort.

The Vulcan was amused and with his sculpted eyebrows raised in the finely trimmed bangs that hung over his forehead, he stepped furth and took her one armed embrace. 

“Must be nice, having companionship to something new?” Nyota remarked, looking up towards Spock. Only, she was met with a stark concentration written all over his face. His own serpentine oculars flickering about to the thoughts beaming through his mind. Other way, he looked down the hall. 

“I believe the human expectation to have a fine figure on their arms is a sign of prestigious, alpha status, is not applied here. I recommend you to try this act upon Mr. Montgomery to witness a more satisfying reaction. As to your assumption to “something new”.... you are correct. This will be my first poker game.” 

“With a face like that, you’ll have us hung up to dry, Spock.” Another delicate laugh escaped from between her lips. “You’ll do fine. The rules are simple. I assume you’ve read up on its culture?”

“Of course. I find it primitive.”

“It’s an ancient game. Not very foreign to more than one race, I’d like to mention.”

“Again, you are correct. Such similar games have spread throughout the universe. Why, sometimes I sense that Vulcans have such a pastime. Of course, they’d make it plenty more complicated.”

“Yes, yes,” Nyota teases and waved a spare hand as if to fan off any Vulcan pride ruining a rather friendly conversation. “But aren’t you nervous? Kirk will be there.”

This made Spock look down and slow down his walk. “What makes you say that, Nyota? I have already discussed that he is the one who invited me to the festivity.” 

The darker woman flashed a leer. “Oh, nothing. Nothing, really! I understand you’re his first officer, blah-blah-blah… but I know I’d be nervous if he asked me out in such a way.”

‘Ask me out?’—“Ask me out?” Spock would’ve sounded offended if it weren’t for the squeak in his voice. Now, this time, Uhura’s got him. 

“Please, Spock, we only have so much time till the others show up and start everybody off.” She acted as if she didn’t just ensnare the Vulcan in a web with such ease even Spock felt his brain do a flip of shock. 

“... Yes, of course.” Spock graveled whilst he and Uhura made their way to the Engineering Room.


	3. The Little Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut next chapter!

The room was dark and a light shined lazily over a table. It was dressed in a rich, vibrant green cloth and framed in thick mahogany. No doubt in mind it was formed by a replicator of some sort, being how ancient such a design had become for Earth. But, even so, Spock could still read some sense of nostalgia amidst his crew while they coax and mingled with one another. Uhura had abandoned him to speak with a well-dressed, taut bellied Montgomery and Christine, dressed like a craft of fine art. The two women were notably rather close to one another, picking at each other’s fingers with their fine nails. Spock quipped a brow; Uhura’s nails were extremely shorter than Christine’s. However, only two of the five were shorter than the rest, and only at her right hand. 

Interesting. 

Sulu and Chekov had their space, too, giggling about and sizing up one another in childish banters and displays. Chekov would propose an arm wrestle, but Sulu liked things neat and the two of them settled on a “thumb war”, they called it. They even sang the rhyme in low whispers: “Onetwothreefour…”

Spock had found himself lingering, rather detached to the others. He held a drink in hand, an arm wrapped around below his bust that held his back and flat stomach. The elbow to the hand that held the drink rested on that platform of bare, hairy arm. The bean of a Vulcan could sense that mingling with others outside his extremely tight circle would be a challenge. They all seemed to talk of vulgar things and commence in crude amusements. Bones was not present, as of yet, and neither was his captain. Spock seemed that he had to very much wait till the two arrived. Rather, he’s been tapping the toes of his foot at a rather nervous pace to see a golden face emerging from those doors. 

Jim. He wants to see Jim.

That’s very bad. 

Lips flattened at the rim of his cup, sipping at the replicated water and sighed. Anxious fingertips began to edge and tease into the glass. If he wasn’t careful, Spock would very much as well shatter the whole thing. If he did, he’d have the perfect excuse to retire from this junction and to his quarters to meditate on how else he could eradicate the emotional turmoils he’s been experiencing. To see if he’s dying or not. 

Why, that sounded lovely right about now. 

Right before the Vulcan could turn and bid adieu, a riot spring out as celebration. The human crew members practically bombarded the entrance way, making such a sudden boom at the presence of the good doctor and the starship captain. 

Suddenly, Spock wanted to stay. He set his drink down and waltzed his way over to the chattering crowd. 

Bones held a large basket, and so did Jim, from what Spock can see, of shiny squares. The Vulcan pressed through the crowd to make his presence known, but all he received was a doughy, enchanting face from his superior looking towards him… and that the baskets were full of—

“Vow, chocolate candy!” Pavel marveled and dunked his hands into the bowls and let his fingers grasp and play with the aluminum wrapped cubes. “It’s been so long since we’ve had this on ship—I barely even recognized it.”

“Yes, yes! Blah, blah—what a commodity. Now get your hands outta it, Pavel!” Bones, dressed up in a cozy, knit sweater of a warm brown and loose, darker mahogany slacks, had grumbled and smacked the young Ensign’s hand, having Pavel play baby and cradle his wounded appendage. “Jim had the wondrous idea of having to use treats instead of chips. Whatever made him think it, I’ve no clue.” 

“Why, most likely to sweeten up the deal, Bones.” Jim cooed, having his heavy, golden eyes laxed over Spock while he addressed his medical comrade. “Wouldn’t you agree, Spock?” 

The Vulcan raised his chin and tightened, went rigid. Of course, his captain was right. The whole entire activity had become sweetened—too sweetened and posed a great danger to Spock if he had to let his mind unravel the way it did earlier today. Which, if he was a gambling man—which he found himself to be for the night—he’d be losing. 

“... Yes, Jim. Very sweet.”

A wink was Jim’s reply. A wink and one of those smirks that Earthlings would describe as smug but playful. The whites of his eyes, homes to the blonde halos that read him like a book, disappearing whilst the fat in his cheeks perched and ripened. The captain should’ve had just shot the Vulcan instead, because something else punctured through Spock’s shields; adoration. 

“Atta boy, Spock! Huzzah!” Jim hollered and was followed by another huzzah with his crew. “To the table everybody, time to play our luck.”

Bones leaned into the Vulcan as they walked towards the large table, thin brows burrowed into the cyan of his eyes. “I can already taste the cavities.”

Spock quirked a brow. “Leonard, do you think we would be eating the candy?” 

“Of course, good sir! Why do you think we brought two bowls? Here,” Bones reached into his cauldron and brought a square to Spock’s hand. “Have a taste and join the fun, Spock. You look so tense I’d mistake you for a damn about to burst.” 

Spock had no other choice, it would seem, having already looked down to see the wrapped delicacy planted upon his palm. There was a frown brewing, but a knocking on his mental walls called out to him: “Just a chocolate, big boy! C’mon! C’mon! Mother would’ve wanted you to have a good time! Everybody! Good time! Jim, too, big boy. Jim wants to see you have fun, too. Don’t ya want that? To make Jim happy?”

The little devil kept jumping, knocking, and Spock took a sharp inhale. With his calculating fingertips, he broke open the seal and popped the cube into his mouth with such haste, Spock could hear the doctor go “whoa now” under some chuckling breath. 

One paused swallow later, the candy slid down the fleshy slide and plummeted into his stomach as a mashed up plate of chocolate. Spock could feel a buzz becoming a companion to the devil knocking on the door, making it a little stronger. 

“... Thank you, Leonard.” Spock rushed out, straightening his shirt and letting the thin smudges of chocolate rub off his thumb and finger into the blackness of his slacks. “I… shall take a seat.”

“Yeah, you… you do that.” Bones sneered in confusion and concern, following suit.

Spock, like an arrow, shot himself to the nearest seat. A part of him was relieved, until Kirk made a nice home of the chair beside the Vulcan with his denim tushy. The captain looked like a farmer, in a way, but with modern twists here and there; his button up was plain and of solid material, but was flared open at his chest. His pants, a piece of the ensemble the Vulcan couldn’t stop his eyes from voyaging towards, were a dark, dark denim. You had to squint to see the traditional texture within its abyss blue. 

“Hope you don’t mind, Spock.” Jim barely whispered to the flustered Vulcan whilst the rest of the well-groomed crew found their spots. “Do you?”

“Of course not,” Spock’s tongue snuggled up to the roof of his mouth. He felt if he kept it relaxed, words would start spilling out.

Jim gave a soft expression, pulling the chair beneath him while he settled in. Spock watched him at the corner of his eye.  
A ghost of an inhale made his pointer ears perk, having been from his captain. 

“You look good, Spock.” Sultry amber eyes raked through Spock’s casual attire. “Glad you took my advice. Really.” 

Shivers ran up Spock’s natural slouch, having sparked his body to suddenly firm itself straight and clear his throat. “Nyota has already made me aware. A tedious chore to compliment me, Jim. You understand that—“

“Right, right. That you can’t feel good when people are nice to you, I get it.” A puff of air left his pursed lips. “Can’t blame me for trying, mister.”

“... I do not think I could blame you.” For anything. 

The bowl of chocolates found itself on the table, capturing all’s attention to the wrapped up candies. Bones had explained poker once again to the already well-advised audience. He also claimed that each chocolate resembles exactly a hundred credits and everybody at the table with receive five pieces of chocolate. The good doctor brought it upon himself to be the dealer, already shooting down Spock who’s got a built in computer behind his eyes. 

“There’s just some naturalism you oughta have when you approach such a game, Spock. Your binary talents could only spoil the nostalgia—Well, the nostalgia we fabricate.” He gently chuckled, rolling some cubes in his hands as if dealing cards. Once he got his hands on some replication of the vintage Terran deck of cards, the show began.   
The others were oozing with trepidation and eagerness. Spock took note of each and every person’s reactions, all resembling joy. However, the Vulcan found himself much more interested in Jim's thick fingers toying with his dealt slices. The way they flip through the aces and spades, having that satisfying, heavy flick against the laminations, gave Spock a twitch in his foot. The twitch to his thin, blonde brows stitching into his forehead, indicating doubts. Amused, Spock ran the odds and was rather smug at what Jim hid behind his hands. Rather, the fellow had such a dud set, the Vulcan nearly chuckled. 

Instead, he hummed. Jim raised his head. 

“Are you peeking, Spock?” The others were still finding their poker faces when Jim spoke, but resembled some humor in their eyes as to the very assumption.

“Vulcans do not peek.” Spock replied, his voice as deep as ever. 

“You’re kidding!” Jim cackled and had his mouth drop in an unbelievable beam. “Then what’s with the puff, aye? I heard it. You find me amusing, hm?”

“Vulcans do not kid.” A leaning gaze met the caption and snapped back to his cards. “... I do.” 

“Seems like Vulcans can’t concentrate either.” Grumbled Bones, fixing a dealer’s visor over his brows whilst he took a seat. “Now, let’s begin.”

“Hold on a min’ der, Doc.” Scotty stood and like a cartoon, brought out a finely aged whiskey for the table. “I’d like to partake in a token of this fine evenin’. Raise yer glasses, folks! ‘Ere comes the Montgomery Whiskey Wagon.”

Cups were filled and cheers were hollered, especially with Nyota’s giddiness to take a sip after such a long, surprisingly boring day. Sulu nodded and took a healthy gulp while Checkov beside him kept signaling the Scotsman to keep pouring. 

“Too much, no?” Sulu asked.  
“It’s gotta ve a lot to make up for what vodka can do.” And down the hatch it went, the young ensign barely scuffed up by the burn and Scotty’s glare. 

When Jim got his cup, he had set it down beside him.   
Spock declined. 

“Yer looking a little green over dere, lad,” Scotty mentioned as he took his seat once more. “Yer alright?” 

Spock dismissed Scotty’s inquiries with a silent hand waving through the air, already leaning into the table with a dizziness painted over his scowl. “Fine. Perfectly fine.” A weak voice, but somehow Spock spoke without spilling the beans. 

The little devil, much like Popeye when he scarfs down his spinach, seemed untouchable the longer the candy he ate stayed in his system. 

The Vulcan couldn’t seem to calm down, and Jim’s worrying glances didn’t help. 

“Could we please, for the sake of my sanity, start this damned game?! Spock’s a grown ass man, he can take care of himself if he’s sick. For now, we gamble!”

“Aye, aye,” Scott tossed himself into the chair’s back, huffing at the scolding doctor’s exclamations with lazy eyes on his cards. 

The Vulcan nodded off, agreeing to Bones’ not-so-flexible declarations. Even so, the room did become a bit woozy. The faces of his comrades becoming oddly shaped and oozy, the crisp edges of their distinguished faces became fuzzy, like static. His fingertips felt like sappy tendrils while he pawed away at the aces, king and twin queens he held, trying to configure anything to steady him. He thought of maps, but Little Devil kept ripping them apart. Spock thought of constellations, atoms, flora and fauna; all being trampled on by Little Devil’s clobbering, cartoonish cleats. He wished he was in his uniform, to feign a type of professionalism to his steady unraveling. Spock missed the damned science blues! Instead, he wears something so barbaric that even he’s finding himself distracted. 

But Jim likes it. Really. He really did. It was obviously a command from an active captain, but now, as equals in some way or other, there’s more of a spar between mind and heart. This time, Spock’s fully aware that he could get used to the dark room, at a table with a bunch of silly cards, as long as he got a seat besides the boisterous blonde. 

A liquified smirk spread warmly across his lips, Spock having been murmuring to himself nonsense with the side of his face buried nice and snug into a tapping hand. Fingertips, conducting gibberish morse code into his temple. His head, bobbing about like a dandelion in a strong gust, making everybody’s eyes do the same; like cats to a laser.

The first one to break the silence was Scotty’s amazing laugh. “Spock! Ye drunk, lad? Yer lookin’ like a boat at a stormy harbor.”

Spock shot up. “... Impossible.” 

“No way! He didn’t drink a drop. Spock...” Nyota frowned and prepared herself to stand before Scott held her shoulder and eased her down. 

“That is… correct!” Spock puffed up. “Not. A. Drop.”

“With a grin like that, he must be enjoying yerself.” Scott gestured. 

“Hey now,” Jim stopped the Scotsman right in his tracks with a stern stare and, as if in slow motion to the swaying Vulcan, turned to face him. “You alright, Mr. Spock.” 

Spock, wagging a lithe finger over to the crewman, perched a snobbish nose to the air. “It’s Spock for tonight, Jim,” An airy giggle. My, oh my, what a charming primate. “You! Of all people! Understand this… is… you know…casual.”

There were sparse giggles from Scotty and the ensigns, even Christine partook in some curiosity with admiring the infamous Spock lacking in his stiffness. 

Jim pressed his lips and an immense energy of nerve-racking stress slammed into Spock’s cloudy mind. It was almost sobering. Almost. 

“What did you drink, Spock?” Jim asked.   
“Mm. No… not a drink.” Spock slurred. 

“Then food!” Bones raised, abandoning his deck to administer an old fashioned hand-to-the-forehead fever check. “Warm, but not too bad.”

“What did you eat, Spock?” Jim asked again, eyes blown wide and glazed over. Like topaz, Spock swooned. Such a gem. 

“Ah… Gems T. Kirk,” Spock hiccuped, Little Devil quite literally floating on Cloud 9, distracted from banging down that door. “Tee-hee!”

“Jim,” Bones seemed astonished. “I think I know what it is. I gave him chocolate. Ever since that, he’s been off his rattle!”

“Ah!” Nyota chimed. “I’ve read that, well it may be a myth, but Vulcans can have the same reaction to chocolate as humans to liquor. Captain, I believe he’s drunk.” 

“I second that,” Bones replied, suddenly finding the situation plenty less dangerous and more so… humorous. “Hey, I’ll be damned.” 

“That’s it,” Jim broke out from his chair and brought Spock to his feet. The Vulcan barked out a “whoa!” and staggered back. All Spock could feel was the broad arm holding him up. “I’ll bring him back to his quarters. What type of chocolate did you get, Bones?”

“Why, the best of the best. Nearly eighty-percent pure cacao.”

“And how many pieces?!”

“Just one!”

“Not enough, eh?” Spock stabbed Jim with a bony, taunting elbow.


	4. Pickle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blowjob and “>:(“
> 
> There’s more to come!

“A-And then… the Betazoid said to the Android: “All I see are ones in your mind!” In which the Android replies—it is a very funny joke, Jim—“because you’re all I think about”!   
Spock fell into the bed, arms hugging his tight stomach while his teeth grew big with his giggling grin.   
“D-Do you understand, Jim,” Spock panted between laughs. “It is because of the universal law of Androids not having any access to emotions in all aspects, makes their compassion completely irrelevant and fictional!” 

“I’ve got a hunch there’s some self-reflection needed here, Mister Spock.” Jim groaned, fists at his hips, but nonetheless he couldn’t help but join his partner in a few airy, weak laughs to contrast the way Spock erupted. 

“No, no,” The Vulcan waved a hand, peering towards his captain with inky, glazed eyes and an adoring leer. “I am perfectly alright, Captain. I am as tight as a Vulcan should be.”

The bulky other bit into his lower lip, stepping closer to the Vulcan who lay pliant and laxed atop the silky bed. Spock noted how his eyes darkened, how his heart drummed against his bust. The Vulcan’s eyebrows shot up inquisitively, having no doubt that the captain is in some state similar to a, very much, diluted heat. Spock sat up on the backs of his arms. 

“... You ate chocolate, knowing very well what you’d become.” Ah, back to the concerned ally. “Why?”

“...” Spock fell silent, his smile shrinking, the joy leaking away in trickles. “I have… no idea, Captain.”

“... You better come up with one soon, Spock. I’d hate to see how sober you will react to all this.”

“I can predict that I will not react at all well,” Spock sighed, tasting thick chocolate on his tongue. “That, I am certain.”

Jim deflated and floated beside Spock, sitting on the edge of the bed alongside the other. His hands, holding one another in the dark denim that dressed his strong thighs, rested upon his lap. Head low, Jim pressed his eyes tight together to blink away his exhaustion and confusion. 

That agonizing stress still pulsated from his broad back. Spock wanted to touch him, take him away from that pulse. The Little Devil began to stir. The room got hotter. 

“That’s no good, Spock.”  
“I understand.”  
“I don’t think you do! I really don’t. I think you believe that this is some type of reach to how you felt at that colony. That you had felt for the girl. You’re trying to grab it, aren’t you? Trying to—to—to make it up, again!”

“... You are very bold in accusations, Jim.”  
“And you’re very bold to let go of control!”   
“You ordered me to be casual!” Spock was now off the bed, sitting eye-to-eye with Jim while the human cocked his mouth and shot.   
“I am your friend!” A beat. “I care about you, Spock. I-I thought you needed to unwind, yes! But that was too much, Spock. Even for you, I didn’t expect that.”

Spock was quiet, but there was a bitterness on his tongue. “I am still half human.” 

“I know.” Jim winced. 

“And I am allowed to do as I please outside of my duty, outside of my servitude to you.” 

“I-I know.” 

“The last time I checked,” Spock sneered. “You are not in the position to demand me of anything if the criteria meets, Jim. You have no idea, even in the state I am persecuted to, how difficult it is to hold back! T-To… to keep the doors closed, Jim!” The Vulcan slammed his chest with opened hands, an accusatory yet “please give me credit” shock in his eyes while he gazes to Jim. “I am holding back!”

“Holding back what, exactly?!” Jim got to his feet. “What’s so bad with feeling?! With being human!” 

This time, Spock got up, stepping away from the bed. 

“You sound like mother,” He grumbled, turning away and dispersing his noise with dismissive hands that flicked in the air. Jim followed. “She has always seem to preach that humanity is the key to life. That it will set me free one day.”

“I don’t give a damn about your philosophies, Spock. I don’t give a damn about what you choose to do! I’m curious as to why put yourself through such torment, such deliberate punishment when you do have that millisecond of indulgence to either a good cry—or love! You loved that girl down on that planet, spurs or not. You understood, before Nyota, that Chapel was enticed by you. 

You are not stupid, Spock! Spock.” 

Excruciating, is what Spock would describe the splintering of the door he chastised to stay close all this time. The oblivious amount of regret funneling to the gullet of The Little Devil had made the demon so fat with power that the door basically just fell away under the pressure. The sleek half-breed gave way, having his face fall into begging hands, hiding away the pinch to his face, a grimace of the upmost despair. 

“... I am, Jim.” Spock rasped, hands venturing into his hair, capturing the nape of his neck under twitching, burrowing fingernails. His bangs fell back across his face whilst he turned to face Jim again, defeated and limp like a puppet cut from very, very tight strings. “I am a very, very stupid thing.” 

“... You’re about to cry.” A dumb way to put something so obvious into perspective, but Jim had to say it. “Spock, I…”

Spock inhales with a sharp, wet draw. His voice was thick and heavy, fried. Yet, he managed.

“I did love her, the colony girl, Leila. But it was rather… the spores effect, I believe to be what unhinges me to think so. Not love no, but the familiarity I had grown accustomed to in the past. I… did not want to stay. Even before your efforts that pulled me away from the intoxication, I did not want to stay there. I wanted to come back. To… you. I told her that “there’s a man on that bridge I need to return to”. You may guess, Captain, who I was referring to.”

“... You left paradise for me.” 

“Yes.” Spock palmed his eye, feeling wetness fill the creases of his digits. 

“And… you thought that becoming drunk tonight would’ve… given you a type of courage to confess? To not have left Leila, the comfort and freedom, in vain?”

“... Perhaps. I have to admit, I have forgotten where I was coming about with this...” The Vulcan shrugged sheepishly, watching Jim come closer and closer. 

The two men stood adjacent to each other. Spock, looking to the ground with a shy twist in his figure, while Jim reached out for the other’s hands, his attention. The captain, when Spock tucked his hands into his arms in an attempt to hide them across his chest, Jim placed his calloused palms upon the Vulcan’s arms. Their bodies were flushed upon another, close and calculated. It felt natural, the gravitational attraction to each other, and it only made Spock more jumpy in his skin. He wanted to crash into Jim, to have his body and mind at his fingertips once and for all. To bring fruition to his countless fantasies regarding his superior. To feel the confidence Jim radiates everyday for himself, just for a second. 

He wanted Jim just for a second. 

Spock’s gaze returned to Jim’s own, and the pair was faced with another dilemma; what to do from here at such close proximity. 

“... Your sympathy is appreciated.” Spock whispered, almost kidding. 

“I’d be a hypocrite if I told you I hadn’t indulged in a drink or two to manage some nerve to do what must be done.” Jim smiles, gently and faintly. But Spock caught it in its glimpse. “... Spock, may I ask you something?”

“You already did”

“Ha! N-no, I mean, something quite serious.”

“Of course, I am not sound of mind for trivia.” 

“That’s why I’m asking…” Spock heard the human swallow. Perhaps a habit to find some courage. “May I… Kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“That was quick.” Jim was almost taken aback, eyes shot wide and face a brilliant crimson beneath the low lights. 

“I ponder fast.” Spock retorted with a smug smirk, sharp brows raised in a tease. “Do you accept just as quickly, Captain? It is rather difficult to race a Vulcan in mind, sir.” 

“You little rascal!” A bombastic, newly young captain sprung from the heavy dread and clashed his mouth upon Spock’s. 

The drunk Vulcan and the high human giggled between their lips, gradually becoming guttural purrs and restless hands grasping cloth. Spock was becoming a melting mess in Jim’s arms, leaking into his hold whilst the human’s kisses ventured from Spock’s mouth down his narrow neck. He could feel the man’s digits fiddle at patches across his figure, raising goosebumps from his flesh to the pleasures zapping into his liquefying bones. 

“Spock,” Jim gasped, his fingers retreating from the Vulcan to fly down his shirt, letting his buttons divorce. He spoke against Spock’s lips, making the Vulcan shiver. “What do you want? From me, what do you need?” 

Even whilst the captain stood below his chin, remarkably smaller, the overwhelming domination dwarfed the alien. Spock’s breath hitched, lips thinning in a complicated frown, feeling the need to escape before he soon came to regret this entire evening once sobered. Yet, the way Jim sought him out, begging to be take care, even in such a state, forced him to forget it all.

The lean man gulped. Marinating in his trepeding silence, all he could do was bring his hands to the low of his shirt. Bringing the hem between fingers, he tore the shirt over his head, snatching Jim’s eyes to a broad, flat chest shrouded in dark hairs. Jim went to take him by the waist almost with a childish swiftness, but was interrupted by Spock’s hands coming from the shirt that fell to the floor, to the waistband of his pants. The zipper peeled away, trousers dropped to his ankles, and the scientist stood there as vulnerable and naked as he could be with knickers and boots on. 

“You’re rather a rollercoaster, Spock.” Jim quipped, basking at the nimble and tense figure before him. “Look like a doll… just in briefs like that.”

“... It is a suggestion.” Spock mumbled.   
“To what? To the question I asked? To what you want?”  
“Call it… exposing the belly. Perhaps, the throat.”  
“You’re no dog, Spock.”   
“Then, I’ll say it clearly: Please, I’d like you to…”

“A bit louder, Spock, love.” Jim felt a pulsating growth tenting the dark denim of his pants. Thankfully, the lights were dark enough to hide away. Even so, it was in his voice, the eagerness. 

“Jim…” A frustrated growl. “... you comprehend what I have said. There is no need for repetition—,”

“Oh, but there is!” Jim’s smile was devilish. If he were Vulcan, with pointed ears, there’d truly be resemblance of Terran's Satan. Yet, Spock didn’t reject the idea. “For clarity, Spock.”

“Fine.” His arms folded up and held his own biceps, censoring a wide section of his chest. “... I said, to take me… However you please.”

“Ah, so my hunch was right. Well, I “please” to be gentle, Spock.”

“As I said, however you please, sir.”

“You’re very delicious.” Jim said, blunt, teasing closer to Spock with his thumbs brimming the elastic Spock’s Starfleet issued underwear. 

“... I suspect the chocolate.” A soft smile, barely a wrinkle to its name, painted Spock’s sharp face.

Jim didn’t retort, he didn’t snort or stifle a chuckle. He did nothing but to beam in the remarkable unraveling of his otherwise tightwad of a partner. He let his digits explore the forest on Spock’s chest, capturing his lips once again, and pressing a meaty thigh into Spock’s crotch. The Vulcan hummed, alerted, and Jim checked Spock’s twitching mask for any discomfort. All the captain saw, evidently as close as their noses could allow their faces to be, that pleasure was scribbled all over. The erection pinching into a struggling, straining zipper made a scene against Spock’s adjacent thigh, a verdant, shamrock spray of blush ripping into his skin like a chameleon in a jungle.   
The Vulcan could sense the struggle, the uncomfortability through the telepathic, faint touch from Jim’s sweet lips and took it upon himself to slip off the man’s belt. Jim didn’t retort, only had migrated the both of them to the bed where Spock fell into his back once again. 

The belt was lost, but a panting human staring into the blissed out eyes of his first officer beneath him, was found rather clearly. 

“Haa…” An airy sigh of astonishment escaped Jim, brows stitching upwards in a way of “this is unbelievable”. “Wow.”

The emerald Spock narrowed his gaze like a hawk, offended, grabbing into the sheets beside him. “Is there an issue?”

“Absolutely not.” And Jim rewarded his brave, polar opposite with a warm, heavy hand pressing down into his center. Spock spring up, bending like a bridge with a tight jaw and fluttering, lavender eyelids. Jim licked just lips, bringing another hand over to his backside, shucking off his jeans to pool at the floor beneath his classic Chelsea boots. “Heh, and for you, Spock? I assume you, too have… No issue at all, huh?” 

“J-Jim…!” A ravenously hot rod twitched against the captain’s palm through the weaning cloth. The human could feel the grooves, the veins, and an interesting note of—not one, but two, double-ridged cock-head. “Nng… Please…”

“If I take these off, mister… will I meet with a pickle?”

Spock smacked his own hands into his pointed eyebrows, covering his eyes and letting out such a groan the other had to crack a grin.

Jim couldn’t have enough of this spaceman. Not enough, ever. 

He supposed that’s been so for a very long while. 

“Not to worry, Spock. I’ve got you. No more harassment.” Jim whispered, his shadow retreating from Spock’s flustered, embarrassed, causing the Vulcan to peak to where he went. Only, to yelp into the dark air with sweet, candy breath, tearing into his bed like a cat to curtains. 

“Captain—!” Spock straight up as fast as a rubber band, gawking at the image of James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the Starfleet:Enterprise, inhaling his clover flushed cock between his hibiscus pink lips. “Oh, Jim… A-Ah—!” 

The captain, lust stricken, watched Spock’s contorting features beneath the warm light while having a pistoning fist in his pants, massaging his own erection while drooling over Spock’s. A flattened, fat, hot tongue surfed between the ridges, molesting the rip to partake of the extraordinary show Spock displayed beneath a mere tongue doing amateur tricks. 

The Vulcan was groaning, moaning out for his beloved, and bringing strings of bed sheet linen to snake in between his raking nails. To witness those schooled, flat lips suddenly becoming a gaping, panting mouth did things to Jim’s chest—and speed. Jim threw his head further along the rod, swallowing Spock’s throbbing cock further down his opened, right throat. His hand, loyal and matching with his sloppy, however precise cocksucking, quickened. Flashes of white started sparking at the edges of Jim’s teary vision, but the sensation of his spit trickling off his chin distracted him from cumming just yet. Besides, Spock looked to need something a little extra to go off the edge completely. 

At the other end, Spock felt every ounce of ecstasy coming from both his own and Jim’s body. The telepathy, through touch, sent the Vulcan to simplify into ribbons of scandalous sounds and obscenities. He was begging, he was thrashing, he was destroying whatever was beneath his hands with his inhuman, alien strength. He could see what Jim was gazing upon; his own facing having been nothing but shameful and hideous, in his own opinion. If Spock was sober, if he was himself again, he’d go off on a self-destructive lent for eons. Hell, may even have to remove his brain entirely to be a true Vulcan again, a Vulcan with no emotions.

No pleasures or love.

Thisisbadthisisbadthisis—

“AHHHNN…!” Spock shouted and pushed into Jim’s mouth, seizing the space above him while his body bowed and hands began to grab at the back of the other’s head and up his back, taking the shirt with his twitching claws. The Vulcan’s vision blew out, his mind becoming a jumble of misplaced mechanics and fuming smog erupting from his devilish ears. The alien was volcanic, erupting into Jim’s tightening mouth with magmatic spurts of cum. The tension in his legs had twisted his muscles, stiffening while the sensory overload took control of his nucleus. His jaw locked and tightened, grinding into his teeth while the punching waves of his climax tore through him in monstrous strength. 

Good. 

The captain had but teased Spock’s entrance with a curious ring finger, pursued and broke the ring of muscle in expansion with his thick fingers. Going off the jizz that painted his tongue and the caverns of his throat, it made Spock feel very, very good. As well as the way he shoved the captain down on the Vulcan girth, Jim could tell that he himself, based on the precum leaking from an angry, blistering red cock being fisted by his red hand. To Jim, having seen his graceful serpentine elf combusting in such a way, it was like paying tribute to some type of God—it was a gift. 

“Ah… T’hy’la…J-Jim… Jim?” Spock came to, in a weakened way, but enough to have gently picked up the other from his penis and looked for any damage. Spock was flying in all directions, rushing his words. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you? My apologies, I have abused you—I will resign immediately.”

Loud gulps echoed between them, making the Vulcan stare in silent awe whilst Jim threw his head back to accept the seed. He looked… completely calm. Besides his hair being swept up, his face blown rose red, drooled cover, plump lips and the fact he had a half-limp green cock hovering over those sleek lips, he looked ready for work. 

“T-The only injustice,” Jim’s voice broke, rough and hoarse. “there will be here, Mr. Spock… if that’s all you’ve got for the night.”


	5. Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex!!! Warning!! 
> 
> I have trouble writing smut, so if anybody would like to give me tips or would like to help me out by writing the section yourself in a collab, that would be great!

Spock’s arms were crossed behind him, Jim holding his hands, while the Vulcan ground his hips against the human and plunging Jim’s cock further inside.   
The two were animalistic, gasping into one another’s mouths with ecstatic expressions crossed between them. Jim didn’t think that being told, by his unhinged Vulcan, to practically grope the Vulcan’s hands would send Spock into such a tantrum would be true.   
But the way Spock had been furiously hot inside, tightening about Jim’s girth and begging for more and moreandmoreandmore… was proof enough. 

“I-I require more, Jim…” Spock’s shiny face fell, watching Jim return the gaze, clearly already spent on a thrusting cock being sent against his resemblance to a prostate. 

“You’ve come three times already. Y-You’ve barely been touched!” Jim rushed out, soon to moan in his throat when Spock twisted his hip and the flush of his colon strangled Jim’s phallus. “Mm—f-fuck…!”

“The refractory period for a Vulcan is mighty short, Captain,” Spock breathed, slowing down to a torturous yet greedy pace. “As you already can tell.”

“H-How can you be s-so calm!” Jim’s legs seized and his stomach tightened, his taut, round gut becoming a cesspool of whatever libido Jim can spare to his rambunctious counterpart. “G-God… I think I’m going blind…you’ve been riding me to old age…” 

“Haa…Humorous.” Spock, with his arms bound and evidence of Jim growing weak became prominent, leaned into his ear with a lustful serpent’s tongue. “I would like to think that my calmness,” Jim shivered. “comes from your lack of proper performance.” 

Spock found his body being ripped from Jim’s lap, having been slammed into the fluff of the mattress with his arms being pulled tighter across his back. Spock gagged, alarmed with his eyes trying to search with his face buried into a pillow, trying to get a hold of whatever glint shined within Jim’s darkened orbs. Nothing, Spock couldn’t see anything. All he felt, all he saw, was the shadow and heat of his captain’s hand holding his head down into the feathery cushion. 

“Ah… Let’s talk about my lack of performance, Spock,” Jim growled into the Vulcan’s ear, sending a ripple of quakes into Spock’s tensed form. “You shadow over me, towering, lingering amidst your station on Bridge…”

Spock dug his teeth into his bottom lip, stifling a wanton cry once Jim forced his blunt, fat cockhead between the spent, gaping entrance between Spock’s verdant, blushing globes. Jim didn’t bother to move, just to feel Spock trying to reach out for him, withering into the silky blankets radiating from beneath. 

“... and giving me glances, toying with me, bringing my heart to a drum I’ve yet to recognize… Instead of doing your duty, you’ve decided to entertain your mingling, flirtatious torture unbeknownst that I, too, share the same feelings. That’s right, Spock, son of Sarek, we feel the same way. Spock of Vulcan, you feel…” 

An abrupt and massively powerful thrust tore through Spock, making the Vulcan flip up like a fish, shouting out “Y-Yes! Jim—Jim, please!”. In which in turn, Jim relinquished one of Spock’s wrists and fisted the man’s black, velvet hair, concreting the subordinate in such a pose. 

“Ack—!” Spock hissed, his flushed cock bouncing by the momentum, kissing the air. “I…” A gasp. “... do not—!”

“Feel?” A ravenous, hungry tongue slid up Spock’s spine, his perfect teeth sinking into the meat between the Vulcan’s shoulder and neck. That same, hot and fat tongue layered over the mark, giving Spock the utmost validated excuse to snarl and, too, bite into the flesh of his bottom lip. “I do believe, Mr. Spock, you’re denying the truth. You feel… so good, you feel warm, you feel tight… you feel, Spock, me inside you. Buried to the hilt, don’t you? You feel more, too… from inside, further inside.”

Of course, he could. With his bare touch, he could become the mirroring sensations that repulsed back and forth between the two bodies. It drove him mad, drove him willingly insane in this disgusting sense of pure, pure pleasure. He could feel Jim’s mind go primitive and obsessed, could understand the millions of layers to this complex ordeal… but Spock couldn’t imagine it would’ve been anything to compensate for what his heart throbbed against his side; longing, miserable desperation for any type of touch from his unrequited love. Even if it’s just this, even if it’s just for a second… Spock needed to be okay with this. 

“Y-Yes, I do…” Spock strained, being pulled back once again by the hips this time in bruising strength, and into Jim’s heavy cock. It stretched him, punched into his bundle of aggravated nerves, and sent him to near tears. 

None of that.   
No tears. 

“Tell me then, huh,” Jim taunted in between pistoning thrusts, his eyes blown wide as if he just did a line of some intergalactic cocaine. He couldn’t get enough, he didn’t want to. The view to the back of Spock’s head, to simply imagine what face he’d be making at this torture, and to relish in that brilliant emerald that stained the tip of those faerie, pointed ears; he could cum, he could finally give it to Spock, to make him his. That’s all he could want, he could need. “Ha! C’mon… Don’t stop talking on my account…”

Spock, indeed, stopped talking. He couldn’t talk, he didn’t have to, not on any account. All he needed was this, all he wanted was Jim to finish off and forget. To forget, forgetforgetforget—

“OH…M-MY… !” Spock tore through the air, suddenly he could notice how slick his cock had became, how good the bed felt beneath him, that rubbed against his bulbous tip. The Vulcan needed to rut into it before the agony did break him to mere whimpers, to sobs and cries, to truths and words. “Please, please, please…! I… desire you… Captain. I feel that… I feel it—MMNGH!”

“I’m c-close, Spock, f-fuck,” Jim slurred, becoming mindless the second he felt his balls tighten and his stomach lurch. He kept thrusting, hugging Spock’s lithe body with strong, large arms that practically lifted the green man into his lap. “Keep g-going, baby… Keep it fucking going—!”

“L-Love..!” Spock grimaced and wailed, tipping into Jim’s arms with trembling fingers. “I-I feel… Love… and I… I—J-JIM…!”

The captain, with lucid eyes, grabbed hold of Spock’s throbbing member and abused it in a jogging fist. The grip was unforgiving, and already did Spock feel his dark eyes roll to the back of his skull. The Vulcan was doomed, he saw that now through the bittersweet gaze of having his beloved delving inside him every which way—and he recognized he was doomed from the start. 

“M-Me too, Spock!” Jim blew into his shoulder, quickening his past while the human’s hands kept its work to unravel and unhinge the poor Vulcan beneath him. “Cum for me, darling… Cum together with me, p-please.” 

Spock “I-I love you, James—!” 

And with that, Spock plummeted while he exploded into his sheets below him, falling into the mess with Jim sprawled across his narrow back. The Vulcan gripped onto nothing, feeling the human’s magma fill him deep inside. Jim’s hot, giggling breaths laminating onto his sleeked, sweating, clover skin. Spock didn’t wish to hear a word be uttered about his drunken confession, but by now he’s relinquishing doubts of his sobriety—he is, indeed, very much sober. The Vulcan recognizes his other thoughts to be true; he’s been sober for quite a while. 

Feeling Jim take himself in a gentle retreat, sparked Spock in a way that surprised him: he’s pleased to feel the ease come of weight from his overheating body, but missed the closeness all the same. He needed to retort, to analyze immediately, but the chilling, quite refreshing clean sleeves of linen wiping away at his rear sent him back to grumble in the pillows and catch his breath in a lax state. He needn’t rush to a laboratory anytime soon, since there’s already things to address presently. 

As in, the massive, quite literally obese elephant in the room.


	6. Please, Leave.

Spock found himself too stiff, too heavy and melted into the mattress. He could sense the way Jim’s spunk took voyage down the canyons of his inner thighs, having a sudden pull to clean himself, but yet again his movements were stuttered by the meaty paws of the captain. Jim coaxed with thick fingers, digging into Spock’s back. 

“... Are you…?”

“I am adequate,” Spock sighed, peeling himself from his flat stomach. Jim admired how the Vulcan’s tired, shiny muscles twitched and pulled. “Please…”

“Right! Right, of course.” Jim retreated, his softening cock trying to breach out from within Spock. The Vulcan hummed and tightened his fists, nails digging into his palm. He held his breath before the wet pop coughed into the air. Spock took a sharp inhale, sighing with gut. “Spock. Spock, hey. Are you sure you’re—?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Don’t call me that, not now.” Jim suddenly felt an anchor plunge into his gut, naked and wet. Concerned, hazel eyes kept concern with Spock’s movements—now, the green man sat in a slouch at the edge of the bed. 

The silence that sunk the room had taken Kirk’s spirit with it, drowning. The human, deflated and sappy with sweat, couldn’t help but try to swallow around a steel ball of guilt lodged into his throat. The pads of his feet were clapping against the floor, bouncing heels and a soon to be aching ankle. Thumbs, rubbing one another raw with his anxious twiddling. Goddamn, he could hear his sweat trickling down his cheek. Crazed eyes looked towards Spock.

The bastard was as cool as a cucumber. 

“... You can find me in my bathroom, Jim.”

“Spock!” Jim jumped, catching Spock’s sleek eyes towards the other. The human bit into his bottom lip, speechless now. “I—Uhm—Spock…” 

The Vulcan watched Jim unravel, brow quipped. 

“You’re sober?” Jim croaked. 

Spock raised his chin. “Very.” 

“... What happened was entirely under my influence. I’d taken control of you—I rap—?!”

Spock raised a hand, zipped the air with his fingertips, and abandoned Jim midword. The Vulcan turned on his heel and flashed a naked ass to the human before heading off into the laboratory. The door was closed and Jim couldn’t slap his jaw shut. 

For a second, Jim could hear his heart screaming in absolute agony. Had he taken advantage of a drunk Spock? We’re Vulcans just as equipped to consent with their superiority? Of course not! The man was drunk on some damn good chocolate and high on whatever the fuck else was in his green blood. Within the nausea and the pacing about the room with a crusty sheet across his hip, it hit him.

“... He said I love you.” Blink. “I… didn’t say it back.”

Spock, sulking over his sink, sighed into his soapy palms. If it weren’t for the built in calculator between his ears, Spock would have completely lost count of how many times he went ahead and washed his hands. Between the fingers, under the nails, between the fingers again—get rid of the skin, the sweat of Jim’s back, of his arms.

Shower, running. 

Flooding the room in steam.

Clean under the fingernails.

Between the fingers. 

Up the forearm, scrubscrubscrub… Keep going. 

Spock, keep cleaning. 

“... I am so filthy.” Spock rasped, eyes growing into the wet fog with shiny tears. 

The alien nearly slipped on the damp floor when a symphony of hammering fists lunged at the bathroom’s door. Spock flew to the door, alarmed and alerted with panic beating in his heart, believing as if Jim had suddenly landed on a decorative lirpa. Yet, long behold, it was Jim puppy-eyed and on his knees.

“You magnificent deity!” Jim roared from the ground. 

Spock was almost disgusted. Holding the door frame with a twitching hand, the Vulcan laid sneering eyes at the human epitome of embarrassment. Yet, Jim only looked blissed out of his mind and… sacrificial with his neck exposed. 

And his belly. 

With pressed lips, Spock rushed through grinding teeth, “What is the purpose of this display, James? Is this a mockery?” 

“Absolutely not!”

“Then what?”

“Well,” Jim came closer, walking on his knees like a peg legged pirate. “I’m like the wolf, y’see, and I’m becoming vulnerable.”

“I have noted the gesture. Proceed.”

“You… said something amidst it all.”

“Yes, the sexual activity that had happened nearly thirty-minutes prior… yet, you are still nude.” 

“Clothes don’t matter now!” Jim slashed the air with two flat hands, only to clap them in unity to a pleading gesture. “Hear me out, please. Please, Spock.”

“James…” 

“I love you, too.”

“... do not.”

“I do. I love you. I love you, Spock. I… I truly believe that this was not just a drunken fling, Spock! You said it—when I wouldn’t have placed a bet on that in a million years—and for me to have ignored it amidst it all—is disgusting. Spock, I love you… Please…” 

Jim reached for Spock’s free, limp hand. But like a cat to water, Spock snatched it back with a grimace. 

“James Tiberius Kirk!” The Vulcan, wounded, nearly puked. “D-Do not say anymore.”

Pain struck across Jim’s face, his arse falling at the back of his legs, defeated. “... Why? Why can’t I say it back?” 

“Because I have told you to cease speaking.” A whistling sigh and Spock let his eyes fall shut. “... I… the chocolate. The effects.”

“... Vulcan’s can’t lie, right?”

“Indeed.”

“But you’re half human.” 

“... Indeed.”

“You could be lying.”

Spock fell silent, his arm hugging his stomach, soothing his heart between his elbow’s nook. 

“I’m not lying.” Jim whispered, praying. “Let me prove it to you. Tell me, tell me how I can prove this to you. Do you need my body? Must I perform that blasted Vulcan performance, again?! I will, Spock! I shall and I will. Just—just tell me how, for the love of God.” 

“... I request that you leave my chambers, James.” 

Jim’s lips were pressed into a frown, nearly quivering. It took a minute, but the captain had his casual attire back on body—messy, but enough—and left the room.


End file.
